Till Kingdom Come
by Hitto-sama
Summary: Ten years after the events that occurred in the City at War arc, the Turtles have to face the slow decline of their master, each of them dealing with it on his own way. Leonardo finds some peace in a fight that could destroy his family.


**Disclaimer:** I do not own Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.  
**Beta-reader:** Koriat Cyredanthem  
**Rating:** M  
**Based on** Mirage comics

_Avant-propos_

The story you're about to read is a translation. I started working on _TKC_ last June and, as I write those lines, the chapter 68 is almost done but the story is not over yet. For the Frenchies out there, if you don't want to wait or if you are curious, the story is also available in its original language on FanfictionNet.  
I'll try to publish a chapter per week in English.

I couldn't have started this crazy translation idea without the help of Koriat Cyredanthem, who had the patience to beta-read this chapter and to answer my questions. She did an amazing work.  
Any remark, or help, will be appreciated, by the way. I did this translation in part to improve my level in English after all.

About the story now: I took some liberty with the original timeline to set the action in 2013. If you know Volume 1, some _Tales of TMNT_ and Turtlepedia, you're good to go. I based _TKC_ on Mirage comics to fully use all the dark themes in _TMNT_ and its M rating is well deserved. There will be dead bodies on the pavement and other mature subjects. You've been warned.

Your comments are very welcome.

I hope you'll enjoy reading TKC as much as I enjoyed writing it. Have fun!

* * *

**Till Kingdom Come**

Chapter 1

_Winter is Coming_

"Hey Donnie!" Michelangelo yelled. "It's gonna start!"

"Just a minute!" Donatello shot back from the depths of his room. Raphael snorted, sitting back in the sofa, a beer in one hand and the remote control in the other. Michelangelo watched his brother's arrival for a few seconds before turning back to the television and digging in his big bowl full of popcorn.

"If the dude misses the beginning again, we don't sum up anything to him," Michelangelo decreed, his mouth full. "He made us miss ten minutes of last week's episode!"

"Yeah, yeah, sure Mikey, but we all know you two are gonna talk all night long about your favorite moments like the dirty fanboys you are," Raphael mocked. "You two just can't appreciate something in silence."

"That's what being a fan is," Michelangelo said with conviction.

Raphael drowned his mocking smile under a sip of beer. Sometimes, his two geeky brothers got excessively excited about little things. Donatello couldn't resist the call of technology and Mikey couldn't resist comics or a TV show even if he had grown older. They were not teenagers anymore but it was part of the little individuality they each had and they all took good care of it. Raphael glanced at the wooden door hidden by an old purple velvet curtain and decided to not think of the person behind it. He was the kind to ignore problems when possible. Besides, he'd let Donatello and Michelangelo ruminate about it any day.

Donatello came trotting to the saggy sofas in front of the television, his laptop in his hands, and sat on a chair at Michelangelo's left, not too far from the popcorn but not too close either, just in case. Raphael changed the channel.

"Hey!" Michelangelo bitched. "Put HBO back!"

"I'm sick of the ads."

"Can you turn up the volume, please?" Donatello asked. Raphael obeyed without a question. If Donatello had noticed something, it was worth the attention.

"_...the sixteenth time this month that this mysterious masked vigilante comes to the rescue of the weak in New York City's streets..._" the pretty lady on the television said.

"And it's only the thirteenth," Donatello noted. "Nice going."

_He's doing better than us, that's for sure_, Raphael added for himself while gulping down a sip of beer.

"_…called the Red Monkey by his growing number of fans..._"

"What a stupid name," Raphael muttered.

"It's because he's wearing a red monkey mask," Michelangelo explained.

"No way, Sherlock!"

Donatello looked significantly at them both and they quieted down obediently.

"._..a lot of videos of the Red Monkey's interventions are uploaded on the Internet with cellphone, making him more popular with..._"

"Advice to superhero wannabes: get the fuck away from cellphones" Raphael grunted. This time, Donatello's look was more than unhappy about Raphael's commented edition and Raphael rolled his eyes in response. The television showed one of this amateur's videos, starring a tall and slim idiot all in black and wearing an angry monkey mask painted in red. He had pads in the same red on the shins, knees, forearms and elbows, plus black gloves. His mask looked Asian, even Chinese, and it was made to impress, with its big gleaming fangs and heavy white mane.

_Must sweat like a pig under that_, Raphael thought. The video was shaking a lot but it followed, more or less, the Red Monkey catching up with a guy with a purse that obviously wasn't his.

"Look at his movements," Donatello whispered. "Fast, supple, precise... That's a good fighter, no doubt about it."

"Anybody with a little training can beat up that kind of douche," Raphael said.

"There is something wrong with him," Michelangelo added while leaning to the television. "Don't you think so guys?"

"He looks like a teenager by his size and his shoulders," Donatello agreed. "And he seems constrained by something under his jacket, indeed. Maybe a weapon."

"What a great idea to let kids play with weapons," Raphael grinned.

"And us?" Michelangelo winced.

"We were taught to be weapons. That's not the same thing."

"Why the news?" Leonardo wondered. He arrived with a cup of coffee in his hands, looking a bit off. Leonardo sat on another chair to Raphael's right while Michelangelo jumped for the remote. He put HBO back just in time for the opening and yelled: "Game of Thrones third season finale, here we go!"

* * *

Leonardo did not go easy on them for training, and tonight was no exception. Donatello felt his leg muscles itch pleasantly while he walked behind his brothers in the maze of New York city sewers. He would have to stretch before going to bed, like every day, but he'd escaped the burning sensation of disinfectant and the stitches. Leonardo had carefully avoided any trouble, applying the legendary ninja stealth. They hadn't taken a lot of risks for a while, not enough for Raphael anyway ; he boiled with anticipation to take down some Foot ninjas. Michelangelo also showed some signs of impatience. He liked to fight, even if he didn't spoil for it like Raphael. Donatello was not really in a hurry to meet their next opponent. He didn't like to take unnecessary risks and he had learned to take it easy over the past years. He was okay with the aches, he was too used to it to even think about it anyway, but he wasn't like his brothers, running after it. And frankly, he just liked to go home early and without any pain. That was always better than a night full of bruises and cuts they had to take care of for days after.

Their home sweet home was deep in the darkness when they arrived, except for the lights from the systems his brothers hadn't turned off – did he not tell them to not shut all the electronic down when they were not using them? But did they listen? No, of course not. They didn't care anyway. Donatello glanced at the wooden door behind the velvet curtain. There was no light under Splinter's door.

"Who's hungry?" Michelangelo asked before turning on the lights.

"Nah, I'm good," Raphael said.

"What if I whisper pizza into your ears, bro?"

"I'll pass but, on second thought, I'll grab a beer."

"Another one?" Leonardo noted.

"Mind you own business, fearless leader."

Raphael crossed to the kitchen without looking at Leonardo. They had installed in a recess in the out-of-use gathering room for waste water which was their home. Michelangelo grimaced but followed his brother and Donatello sighed. He didn't want to hear Raphael's endless rants about Leonardo again but he wasn't eager to stay and endure the heavy silence on this side either. The only way to escape one or the other was to talk about something Donatello did not want to talk about. He had to talk about Splinter.

"Did master Splinter eat before we went out?" he asked while leaning his staff against the brick wall. Leonardo stared at the kitchen for a few seconds before turning his attention to his brother. There was weariness in his eyes.

"I gave him his usual plate anyway," Leonardo answered. "But he was barely awake."

"I can go check on him if you want."

"I'll do it," Leonardo said. Donatello felt a little annoyed. Maybe it was the fatigue speaking or the lack of action but for once, he snapped at his brother.

"It is not only up to you, you know?" Donatello immediately regretted his words and thought Leonardo would fire back at him but, instead, he saw his brother's shoulders sag with fatigue. It was disconcerting to see Leonardo like that, even baffling. Donatello found himself caught off guard and he only could awkwardly pat his brother's shoulder. "Go get some rest," Donatello advised. "I'll watch master Splinter today." Leonardo glanced at the kitchen again and Donatello knew what he was thinking. "He's our master, too, Leo," he said softly. "Let Mikey and Raph have time with him, too. They need it as much as you do." Leonardo snorted. "They are capable of watching master Splinter," Donatello insisted.

"Sometimes, I wonder," Leonardo confessed. Donatello did not take his brother's words lightly. He felt like Leonardo had punched him, and wanted to return the verbal blow. But Donatello restrained himself, took a deep breath and patted Leonardo again.

"You are wrong to doubt them," Donatello said. "Now, go to bed. The weight of responsibilities makes you say stupid things. That's the sign you have to pass on your duty. Don't worry, I'll watch master Splinter." Leonardo nodded without conviction and dragged his feet until he got to his room. Donatello waited a minute to be sure Leonardo didn't go for Splinter before going to the kitchen. Michelangelo was eating a cold slice of pizza with his usual enthusiasm while chatting with Raphael, who was leaning against the refrigerator, a beer in hands.

"Is there any coffee left?" Donatello asked.

"Now?" Raphael noted. Michelangelo didn't care about the time. He grabbed a cup, poured some coffee in it, and put it in the microwave. He shot Donatello a thumps up in victory.

"Thanks, Mikey," Donatello smiled. "I'll watch master Splinter today while Leonardo gets some rest. It would be a good idea to stay awake during my watch."

"Oh? The tireless Leo agreed to let you take care of his precious daddy?" Raphael mocked. Donatello felt his patience vanish but he didn't have time to answer. Michelangelo took care of it.

"Can you stop throwing your buckets of testosterone at us for five minutes? Seriously, dudes, grab each other to fight to the death and move on! I'm fed up with your tiny whiny rivalry." Raphael glared at Michelangelo coldly and put his beer bottle on the wobbly kitchen table. He cracked his knuckles.

"You gonna count the points, Mikey?" Raphael taunted.

"Fuck, not now!" Michelangelo grumbled. "We are all tired and now's not a good time, with master Splinter like this."

"He won't get better, you know?"

Michelangelo looked hurt for a second but he regained control of himself as the microwave bell rang. He took the warm cup out to give it to Donatello. They all knew what was going to happen and dealt with it on their own way. Leonardo buried himself under responsibilities. Raphael had admitted what was obvious. Michelangelo acted like everything was fine and Donatello tried not to think about it – but how could he ignore the old age? Splinter hadn't been himself for the past few months, maybe even the past year. He was always tired even if he spent his days drowsing in front of the television. He didn't practice with them anymore and didn't eat with them either. He did not joke anymore, did not congratulate them, did not comfort them. He just sank into the uncertainty that memories leave when they disappear. Some nights, Splinter had nightmares and yelled the name of his master, Hamato Yoshi, living again the cursed day of his disappearance, murder by the Shredder. Leonardo had then to convince him that Oroku Saki was dead, that they had defeated him and Hamato Yoshi was avenged. In those moments, when Splinter didn't remember them at all, Donatello was happy to let Leonardo deal with it, even if he made a coward of himself. He knew Michelangelo plunged his head under his pillow so as not to hear the screams and Raphael went out into the sewers to vent his anger.

No, it wouldn't get any better.

"_Night gathers, and now my watch begins__,_" Donatello recited. Michelangelo smiled slightly and Raphael snorted at his geeky brothers.

"I'll take next shift at 2PM," Raphael added. "And no objection."

"I said to Leo..."

"Screw Leo, I don't care what he said."

Donatello didn't insist and took his cup of coffee with him into Splinter's room.

* * *

Donatello wasn't with Splinter when Leonardo opened the door of his master's room. The old rat was sleeping in his chair under a warm blanket, a plate full of cookies and a cold cup of tea on the bedside table near him. His television was off and Leonardo could hear the faint and wheezy breath of his master. He closed the door without a sound and pulled the curtain back over the door to suppress the noise from the living room. Leonardo found Raphael sprawling on the couch, with a book in his hands and remains of a snack on the coffee table.

"Don's napping," Raphael said before Leonardo could ask where their brother was. "Mikey'll take his quarter at midnight. Do whatever you want tonight."

"So you're in charge now?" Leonardo asked sharply.

"Somebody has to when you can't deal with it," Raphael responded while turning a page.

"Donatello..."

"Don hates to take responsibility and you know it."

"He's the smartest of us all," Leonardo insisted.

"The smartest, not the wisest."

"Because you think you're wise?"

Raphael closed his book and sat up straight to talk face to face to his brother. "No, I'm no wise ass," he shot back, "but I still can help my brothers when they need me. Don and Mikey hate responsibilities. When all you do is crap, I have to take the lead."

Leonardo clenched his fist. He was doing all right. He was doing what Splinter prepared him to do for years: he had taken control. It was his job now to take charge. It was his duty to keep his family united. It was on him to bring his brothers back to the lair alive each morning. But Raphael only saw what he wanted to see, like always. He had no idea about the pressure and the weight of those three lives in Leonardo's hands.

Leonardo took a deep breath, driving away the anger that obscured his judgment. It was difficult to loosen his jaw at that moment. "Master Splinter taught me to deal with those responsibilities. It's my duty to..."

"You're no Splinter," Raphael interrupted. "You don't have to do exactly what he said."

"He taught me..."

"To be his good little soldier," Raphael shouted.

"And I learned better than you."

"Oh really? Wanna see if that's true?"

Raphael always had his sais at his belt. Leonardo, however, left his katanas into the armory when he was in the lair. Even without his blades, he was a good fighter, but Raphael always had been better when it came to fists. In terms of raw power, Raphael surpassed him. If Leonardo wanted to win this fight, he had to play with Raphael's control over himself. Raphael's temper could easily be his enemy and he never really worked on that particular problem – though, to be honest, Raphael didn't see it as a problem. Leonardo just had to get his brother mad to win. It would be too easy.

"Leonardo!"

The faint voice of Splinter filtered through the curtain into the living room and Leonardo forgot in a second his quarrel with Raphael – he would take care of him later – but his brother pushed him on the side and went to Splinter's room.

"I'm on watch till midnight," he said. "Use your free time to calm down, bro."

"I don't need to calm down."

"So go out and let loose! Get wasted, get laid or whatever, I don't want to know but get your shit together, Leo." Raphael gave Leonardo a long and cold look before knocking at Splinter's door. "Splinter, it's Raphael. Leo went out for some fresh air."

Leonardo stormed out directly into the armory and grabbed his swords without acknowledging Michelangelo sharpening shurikens. He sensed his brother wanted to say something but Michelangelo rarely spoke just after an argument between his brothers. He would wait until the mood was right to try to put the pieces back together. For now, it was useless.

Clearing his mind, Leonardo went out in the sewers and let his habits guide him to New York City rooftops. The night was as beautiful as it ever got in the city. The yellow and orange of the streetlights tinted the night and gave a supernatural look to the shadows of the buildings in Manhattan, far away. They didn't go often there. It wasn't easy to move around there because the streets were much larger and the skyscrapers farther apart compared to the Bronx, the Queens or Brooklyn's low neighborhood. And corruption wasn't the same uptown. A few fist fights wouldn't solve anything there. Leonardo aimed for the Queens and patrolled on the rooftops, keeping a sharp eye on the dark alleys. It was still early in the evening for New York citizens and there wasn't much activity but Leonardo managed to find some kids trying to steal a car. He scared them away and his mood got a little bit better.

It was around two in the morning when something really interesting happened. Leonardo noticed half a dozen men wearing black on the rooftop of a two-story building leaning over a canopy. By their look, they were ninjas of the Foot clan. Years of kicking their butts – and occasionally being kicked in the tail – had taught him to recognize them at the first look, even if they didn't have their headband. There was something in their attitude, some assertiveness that Leonardo just knew as the Foot's.

Leonardo sneaked stealthy closer to them and watched them for a moment but the ninjas' attention was only to the canopy. What could possibly be that interesting in that building? That wasn't any warehouse or business. As far as he knew, it was a fire station that had been abandoned for years. Leonardo hadn't come around in a long time so he didn't really know what what the Foot were interested in but six Foot soldiers were not a problem anyway.

Leonardo attacked from the shadows silently and nobody noticed him until his second kill. Three men jumped at him and a fourth opened a window of the canopy and got in the building, certainly to call some reinforcement. _Come to daddy_, Leonardo thought. It would be easier if he let his body take control anyway. The more, the merrier.

His three opponents weren't a problem. One of them did successfully get close enough to Leonardo to have the opportunity to touch him but the ninja was too unskilled to take his chance. Leonardo caught his arm and broke his elbow while throwing him onto his friends, shifting backwards to easily withdraw himself.

The cavalry had arrived. Leonardo counted twenty-something Foots before he stopped counting. It wasn't important. All that mattered now was to be sure they would stay dead on the rooftop. Speed, accuracy and efficiency. That mattered.

Number seven presented a little bit more of a challenge than the others so far and hit Leonardo's shoulder with his elbow, unbalancing him just enough to give number eight confidence. Leonardo let himself fall instead of correcting his balance and sprang back on his feet after a roll, cutting some calves with his swords on the way. Number eight missed his attempt but number seven used the predictability of Leonardo's trajectory to his advantage, throwing a shuriken that hit the Turtle's forearm. In response, Leonardo cut a Foot's arm with hardly any effort. The ninja jutted his arm forward and blood spattered on Leonardo's face in the man's attempt to blind him – even injured, the ninja was trying to hamper his enemy. The Foot hadn't learned their biology lesson yet, obviously, and Leonardo did not soften. He tensed his forearm muscles to eject the shuriken and smiled when the Foot moved back. Fear was a weapon of the ninjas, after all.

A few minutes later, as new soldiers arrived to replace those Leonardo had slaughtered, one of the Foots had the idea to use a gun. Leonardo hated guns, they were ethically questionable but Master Splinter often told him that the ninja arsenal had to evolve to fit its time – Donatello took his words to heart with his gadgets and his toys. However, the Turtles had decided to never use guns. It was too easy and, more importantly, it left too many traces, the kind of traces authorities were interested in.

Leonardo jabbed his right sword into a Foot and grabbed a shuriken from his belt at the same time, throwing it directly at the Foot with the gun. He pulled his katana without worrying anymore about the shuriken or the revolver, spilling blood and a few meters of intestines from the stomach of another Foot soldier. The Foot with the gun fired despite the shuriken and Leonardo felt the impact in his shell. He was caught off balance and stumbled into a Foot who desperately clung to him as he fell through the canopy. Leonardo tried to regain his balance but his feet slipped on a pile of intestines and the turtle fell with the human ninja.

With a spin, he got free of the dead weight of the Foot and landed easily. He rolled on the ground to dissipate the force of his fall and took a low guard, all senses alert. The light was almost blinding inside the building but Leonardo could still spot another twenty-something Foot soldiers around him. His carapace was strong but it was slightly sensitive and Leonardo could feel the bullet in his shell, just between two plates. Great. It was painful but nothing a properly trained mind could transcend.

A Foot fell through the canopy, quickly followed by a second, then a third. Something was going on on the rooftop but Leonardo had other ninjas to deal with. He dodged the first strike, cut through the inside of a thigh with his left sword – femoral artery, hemorrhage, one down – and kept his sword in an upward movement to intercept the iron of a spear while his right katana opened the abdomen of the attacker. With a backwards jump, Leonardo pulled away to have time to uncross his swords and face the next opponent.

This new foe was smaller than the others but much more muscular and, interestingly enough, a higher rank than the surrounding Foots. He had brass knuckles bristling with peaks and Leonardo gave him a small smile. If the guy thought he would give him the opportunity to strike, he was barking up the wrong tree.

And suddenly, the high-ranked ninja collapsed, crushed by the weight of a black, red, and white shadow. A heavy iron staff broke his ribs and the new competitor let the Foot break his fall. Leonardo recognized him when he straightened – his red mask of an angry monkey didn't leave much room for imagination anyway.

"I didn't know it was ComicCon already," the Red Monkey scoffed with a smile in his voice. He dodged a sword by leaning back, put his hands on the ground and rotated his hips to kick the two Foots that were coming for him. Leonardo didn't ask any questions. If he had to confront this crazy kid, he would do it after the ninjas were down. Leonardo cut somebody's leg on his left, kept going with a shearing blow on his right, stepped back to jump over a Foot he pierced up and down with each of his swords. Back on his feet, he used his momentum to lift the body and threw it at another soldier.

Leonardo was used to fighting with a master of the Bo staff but the Red Monkey's was thicker and heavier than Donatello's. However, he handled it with ease and didn't need many strikes to put a man down. But he wasn't killing anybody and Leonardo knew their foes would only have bruises. _Amateur_, he thought while beheading his opponent. The Red Monkey looked at him but said nothing, busy enough with the enemies who tried to pierce his defenses.

The last man standing got his feet caught in a dead body and Leonardo jabbed his right sword in the man's chest when he tripped. The Foot slipped slowly along the blade, trying to grab the weapon to slow down his fall, but Leonardo didn't pay attention to the dead weight. He was already looking at the Red Monkey, watching for the slightest hostile sign.

The Red Monkey hit the ground with his staff and it detached into three parts connected by small chains. He folded his weapon with the ease of habit and slipped it into a holster under the back of his jacket. Leonardo did not let his guard down.

"Three years ago," the Red Monkey said, pointing at Leonardo, "one of you saved my brother's life. I thank you for that."

"I didn't need your help," Leonardo responded, still ready to strike.

"I never thought I was in your deb,t" the kid retorted, tilting his head to the side. "We're working for free, after all, right?"

"You're gonna get killed if you keep doing that."

"I might. I can also cross the road and get run over by an asshole in a Hummer."

Leonardo tightened his grip on his swords, which were sticky because of all the blood on them. He hated that kind of guys, full of himself. They usually fucked up everything. "I'd sit tight if I were you," Leonardo advised. "The Foot will search for you."

"They will never know I was here. You're gonna kill those I put down, after all, am I right?"

Leonardo nodded. Leave no witness. The Foots knew what to expect when they joined the clan. That was their problem.

"I'll be careful but I won't worry too much in this case."

"And you're okay with that?" Leonardo asked.

"With what?"

"Me killing them."

"You seem used to it, I believe you can do it."

That wasn't what Leonardo meant. The Red Monkey didn't kill his opponents but he let somebody else finish them without taking offense? It was morally dubious but Leonardo knew a lot about grey zones. He lowered his guard and the Red Monkey retreated into the shadows, vanishing through a window a moment later. Leonardo finished off the survivors without even thinking about it and his bullet wound reminded him it was still there. He gritted his teeth, sheathed his swords, and headed for home. He could already hear his brothers bitch about the fight they missed, about the wound to take care of, about this, that, and the other thing. Leonardo had the smallest smile on his face as he rushed down New York City's sewers.


End file.
